


brave ones

by cornfields



Series: blood pressure [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornfields/pseuds/cornfields
Summary: The emotional bleed-through Alex is getting from Nicky is fond, but there’s some concern lurking underneath it. Nicky doesn’t know about the box of wedding rings in Alex's pocket, so he worries. Alex just turns on the music and ignores the way Nicky is starting to feel a little betrayed.





	1. ring box

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: discussion of death (similar to the ones in previous bp installments, more details [here](http://cornfieldsposts.tumblr.com/post/172980972185/bp-2-brave-ones))
> 
> [This post explains](http://cornfieldsposts.tumblr.com/post/172980972185/bp-2-brave-ones) a lot of important things about the fic, such as what memento mori rings are, Nicky's fever, the sweatpants-jeans, etc.

Alex knows he’s acting squirrelly and he knows Nicky has noticed, but thankfully Nicky hasn’t asked Alex about it yet. Mike and Tom haven’t seemed to notice Alex’s tension, but it’s only a matter of time before they clue in. Tom will probably assume it’s his fault for ruining Alex and Nicky’s relationship, and Mike will assume that either Nicky or Alex is dying.

Because this can’t go on for too long, Alex texts Old Zhenya in Pittsburgh. _Can T and M and N and me come over for a week?_

Zhenya doesn’t text back, just calls. Alex answers and before he has a chance to say anything, Zhenya says, “Why are you texting? Are you in a library? I know you’re a nerd but this is stupid.”

“Nobody calls on the phone anymore. You’re so old, damn.” Alex makes sure to sound as annoying as possible. In truth, it’s just something Andre told him that Alex has no choice but to believe. Andre is young and hip, so he’s probably right.

“You’re calling me old when you’re paired to someone that would use carrier pigeons if anyone would let him get away with it,” Old Zhenya points out.

“How dare you. He prefers telegrams.” Alex can’t help but look over at Nicky fondly. Nicky's got a book propped open on the table while he eats a fruit salad, keeping the pages of the book open with the weight of Mike's laptop. Alex loves him too much, sometimes.

"I want to propose to him," he blurts, and it's in Russian, like the rest of the conversation. "He'll say yes this time."

"Congratulations on bamboozling him into thinking you're husband material. You must have worked hard." Old Zhenya's voice is too warm to be harsh.

"Thanks. I want it to be special this time, though, because he's gonna say yes. If I make it what I want then he'll be overwhelmed, but I can't just propose to him this time in the bathroom or whatever. Mike and Tom will want to see." Alex feels an unexpected pressure behind his eyes and clears his throat. Nicky looks up at him questioningly and Alex feigns normalcy. "So I want to do something special, and Mike and Tom can be there."

"And me?" Zhenya asks curiously.

"Of course," Alex answers. He doesn't hesitate and doesn't sound sarcastic, and it's giving too much of an opening for a snide comment from Zhenya but Alex says it anyway.

"Do you want to have the wedding here, too?" Zhenya asks, and it's sincere, too.

The pressure behind Alex's eyes worsens a little and he clears his throat. "I don't know yet."

Zhenya gracefully doesn’t mention Alex’s sudden awkwardness. "So when do you want to come over? I need to tell Sidney and Blondie.”

“Wait, who’s Blondie?” Alex moves towards the paper wall calendar that Nicky insists on keeping. It’s oversized and includes events featuring everyone in the house, plus TJ, Lauren, Amy, Andre, and occasionally the Zhenyas or Sidney or Joel when they come into town. Mike is the most active user of the calendar, filling its squares with appointments like “ _Tom: vampire-dentist 3AM,” “Amy: Defending Thesis 9AM,” “Big Movie Night w/everyone 6AM (Goon or Cast Away, vote below!!)”_ or “ _Alex and Nicky: Date Night 9PM-1AM_.”

“Next Monday?” Alex asks, figuring “ _Tom: Spring break all week!!”_ would be a perfect time to leave town for a little bit, and that “ _Mike: pair-human-doctor 3:15AM”_ can be rescheduled.

“Sounds good.” Old Zhenya pauses and then adds, “Sidney will be happy to see Nicky. If I weren’t so gorgeous and funny, I’d worry that Sidney’s got a crush on someone that isn’t me.”

The pressure disappears from behind Alex’s eyes and he snorts, grinning against the phone. “He’ll be thrilled to be around someone that actually thinks before they talk.”

“You’re a dick. See you Monday.” Old Zhenya’s smile is obvious in his voice.

 

-

 

These days, the drive to Old Zhenya’s isn’t terribly long and Alex wonders why they don’t go there more often. Tom and Mike both move to take the backseat but Alex makes a noise of disapproval and pulls Tom to sit up front in the passenger seat. “Tom likes good music and you like old stuff. Sorry, Nicky, you can’t sit near radio,” he declares remorselessly.

“I thought you liked my ABBA CD,” Nicky protests, settling into the backseat.

“ABBA?” Mike asks from beside Nicky. “Seriously?”

“It’s new. I have it on CD now,” Nicky affirms, sounding proud.

Alex waits until everyone’s buckled in before starting the car. The wedding rings are in a box in his pocket and whenever he shifts, the edge of the box pokes him in the thigh. They were more expensive than any of his mourning rings ever were. He looks at Tom to explain the entire ABBA album story. “First, he gets it as vinyl record. Then, eight track. Then, cassette tape. Finally, two years ago, he gets same album as a CD.” The box pokes Alex in the thigh and he swallows.

The emotional bleed-through Alex is getting from Nicky is fond, but there’s some concern lurking underneath it. Nicky doesn’t know about the box of rings, so he worries. Alex just turns on the music and ignores the way Nicky is starting to feel a little betrayed.

 

-

 

Blondie turns out to be a blonde cat that is clearly loyal to Old Zhenya and only Old Zhenya. She hisses whenever Tom or Mike walk too close to her, but she doesn’t move out of the way. There’s a radius of at least three paces that everyone must observe when walking around her. She spends most of her time lounging on the floor or sprawling in Old Zhenya’s arms.

Over the course of the drive, Nicky has gone from cautiously concerned to feeling like he’s been deceived, and it gets worse every time Alex doesn’t meet his eyes. Alex would truly love to meet Nicky’s gaze, but he’s got two rings in his pocket and something’s wrong with him and he doesn’t know what it is. The rings are lovely, and don’t look anything like the mourning rings that Alex used to wear, and so that’s not it. He knows he’s not afraid of Nicky saying no, because Nicky’s said no over and over and Alex doesn’t really mind that.

Alex isn’t even sure what’s wrong, so it’s as good a time as any to drag himself over to Old Zhenya’s and try to figure it out. Old Zhenya has known Alex for centuries, and despite the bruises they've given each other and the words they've said, or not said, he has always been there if Alex needed him.

Right now, Zhenya’s holding Blondie and staring at Alex. “Hello? Are you home?” he’s asking Alex in Russian, and then when Alex blinks and comes out of his reverie, Zhenya frowns at Alex. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t like you. And even I can tell that Nicky’s pissed about something.”

Alex doesn’t know what to say, and it’s not like him, either. He can tell Old Zhenya anything.

“Blondie is best cat,” Zhenya says, gently putting Blondie on the floor. Blondie immediately hisses at Mike. Zhenya looks at the cat adoringly. "Beautiful."

Nicky is trying to catch Alex's gaze, and Alex is staring stubbornly at Blondie. Eventually Nicky gives up and gets his bag, dragging it upstairs to the room where they normally sleep. Mike and Tom, without much of any idea of what else to do, follow him. Zhenya, Blondie, and Alex stand in the foyer.

"C'mon," Old Zhenya says after a pause and heads towards the back of the house. There's a deck attached to the back, looking over the lake. The stars are out, and on the little table between the two lounge chairs is a tray holding three shot glasses and a bottle of Stolichnaya. Zhenya bypasses the chairs and grabs two shot glasses and the bottle, heading for the wide railing. He stands there, pouring drinks into the little glasses, and then stares out at the lake.

Alex joins him, taking the proffered shot glass and silently clinking it against Zhenya's. He swallows it down, barely even feeling the burn, and stares out at the dark lake beside Zhenya. The air is a little too cold to not wear a jacket, but the alcohol will kick in soon. He stays where he is. The stars are heavy on the horizon. He expects an interrogation, but instead, Zhenya stays quiet. The waves lap against the shore and Alex pours them both more drinks.

Zhenya lets Alex pour and then rests his glass against the railing, rings clinking against the sides. In his centuries of life, Zhenya has had dozens of descendants, dozens of kindred, and even many pairs. His fingers are heavy with memento mori rings, so many that any blows from his fists are devastating. (Alex's are kept in a drawer. He stopped wearing them when he paired with Nicky. He deliberately never thought about why.)

There's no advice Zhenya can give, no amount of talking about feelings that will make anything fixed. Nicky's frustration bubbles up in Alex's chest, anger that Alex is drinking over a problem that he won't share with Nicky. A few more shots should drown Nicky out. Alex clinks glasses with Zhenya again.

He doesn't know how to say what's wrong with him. He doesn't know if he'd even want to say it to Zhenya. He pulls out the box from his pocket and puts it on the railing. Zhenya immediately opens it and looks at the wedding bands that Alex got for himself and Nicky, the stones glinting slightly under the light of the moon. "These are hideous, Sasha. No wonder you haven't given Nicky his yet. I can't even tell which one is uglier."

"Your rings knocked my tooth out, so they're definitely the ugliest," Sasha mutters, no fire in his tone.

Neither of them speaks for a while. Zhenya puts the ring box down between them and stares out at the dark lake. There aren't many houses in the area-- probably something Zhenya considered a feature, rather than a drawback-- and when the wind passes by, the trees creak slightly and their branches brush together.

"Is it good? Living in your house with them, all of them." Zhenya's voice is a mumble, slightly drawn out from alcohol.

"It's good." Sasha remembers standing at a sink, decades before he met Nicky, gripping the edges and panting and willing himself to stop imagining that time had stopped and the walls were drawing in on him. It seems like a nightmare, now. It seems like going back to that—that person that he was—would be unthinkable. He glances briefly at the rings on Zhenya's hands before looking back out at the water. "It's good."

"Hey, Zhenya," comes Sidney's vaguely awkward tone from the doorway. "I was just going to go to bed, but you haven't bitten yet, so--"

"Go up, I'm come in soon," Zhenya answers, and finishes his glass of Stolichnaya when Sidney disappears from view.

He and Sasha look at each other for a moment. Waves lap against the shore as another gust of cool wind slips through the trees and across the water. Sasha breaks his gaze to put the rings back in his pocket. Zhenya smacks his back lightly, in lieu of something horrific like a goodnight hug or kiss, before going inside to be with his pair. Sasha goes back to staring out at the water, only going inside when he's sure Nicky's asleep.

 

-

 

Alex can't find the words to tell Nicky what's wrong, even after sleeping through the day. Nicky's patience is thinning by the hour and by midnight the night after they get to Zhenya's, Nicky's decidedly angry. He's quiet about it, like usual, but when Alex leans in to bite before lunch, Nicky turns his head and rests his chin near his shoulder, eyes downcast so he doesn't have to meet Alex's gaze.

It's been years-- maybe decades-- since Nicky turned his head toward Alex and gave him the traditional refusal. Alex acts on instinct, immediately taking a large step back and murmuring an apology. He turns towards the oven and resumes cooking, feeling resigned rather than hurt. Nicky's got good reason to refuse him.

"What is it that you can’t tell me?” Nicky asks, and this time, he sounds so wounded that Alex is tempted to just… make something up. Propose on the spot. Anything to get that tone out of Nicky’s voice. But he can’t, and Nicky eventually walks away.

 

-

 

It’s too rainy for Sidney to want to go outside to exercise, so he stays in and exercises in the living room. He’s trying to figure out what to stick his toes under so he can do sit-ups when Nicky and Tom get back from shopping, taking off their rain boots and jackets. Tom disappears down the hallway to the kitchen and Nicky comes into the living room, putting his bag on the floor and getting his books out. He usually looks more comfortable in Geno's space than Sidney would expect, but he's been familiar with Geno for decades. Sidney's still trying to find his way around.

Nicky pauses and glances briefly at the stairs and then piles the books on the coffee table before noticing Sidney. “Good evening,” he says, and then glances at Sidney’s sweaty armpits and the way he’s trying to stick his feet under the much-too-high couch. “I can do that,” he offers.

Sidney scoots over and Nicky stands with his feet resting slightly on Sidney’s toes. He’s so warm, radiating heat even through his socks. “Thanks,” Sidney says before starting to do sit-ups. He speaks between reps. “What did you shop for?”

“Food.” He takes off his thick sweater and tosses it at the couch. The blue short-sleeve shirt he’s wearing doesn’t cover any of his throat, and Sidney focuses on his sit-ups in order to resist staring at the unsettling lack of marks or bruises on Nicky’s neck.

Nicky and Alex have been locked in some kind of disagreement for the last few days. There’s no yelling, but Geno says that’s because Nicky doesn’t yell and Alex would feel foolish shouting at someone who isn’t shouting back.

(“Does Nicky just not get angry? Is he always calm?” Sidney had asked Geno back when they were packing to visit.

Geno had snorted. “I used to think, no, Nicky never feels anything. But then, Alex was talking about his ancestor, you know, his real one.” He’d paused in his explanation, remembering the look of silent rage on Nicky’s face, subtle but pronounced enough to make a sharp contrast to his usually serene expression. "Nicky can be angry."

His tone had been so somber and absolute that Sidney had never asked about the matter again.)

Nicky doesn’t talk much, and Sidney is uncomfortable at the very idea of prying into his private life, but at some point, this is going to bother Geno. Geno is Alex’s ancestor.  _Except they don’t say it like that_ , Sidney silently reminds himself as he does sit-ups at a steady pace.

Eventually, Sidney pauses to take a break and just stays flat on his back, toes still trapped under Nicky’s feet. Nicky looks blank-faced and patient, like he has nothing else he wants to do. There’s a pinkness to his sweaty ears and cheeks, though, that shouldn’t be there. Alex should be taking care of that. “If you want, I can ask Geno to talk to Alex,” Sidney offers. “About, uh… you not getting bit.”

“I’m the one being stubborn,” Nicky answers, calm.

“You’re starving him?” Sidney asks incredulously.

“I would  _never_ ,” Nicky answers immediately, and the emphasis he puts on the last word somehow makes it seem like his whisper is as loud as shouting. He exhales and seems to collect himself, shifting his weight on his feet a little where they lay atop Sidney’s toes. "I'm... waiting. He can bite when he's ready to talk. It's nothing you need to worry about."

“You’re right. My bad, sorry. It’s none of my business.” Sidney goes back to doing sit-ups to relieve some of the awkwardness. The floor creaks enough to fill up some of the silence.

Nicky’s hand twitches like he’s thinking about trying to touch Sidney in some way and then thinks better of it. “No, it… is. It’s your business. You’re our kindred.”

Sidney stills while he’s sitting up, then rests his hands on the floor behind himself, still looking up at Nicky. “Yeah,” he says, when it doesn’t look like Nicky’s going to keep talking. Of course they’re kindred. That’s how family trees work.

There’s a longish pause and then Nicky seems to shift trains of thought, expression shifting under the light from the expensive, tacky chandelier that Geno insisted on installing. “Why don’t you like Alex?” Nicky asks. “We can see that you like me, but you don’t like him.”

“I do like him,” Sidney protests, flabbergasted. “I don’t… always know what to say to him, and sometimes I kind of wonder about what him and Geno have done in the past, but…what do you mean?”

Nicky makes that same odd hand movement and once again decides against… whatever it was. “You look at me like everything I do is good, like I’m… great. Old Zhenya has known me for so long, but he still doesn’t like me.”

“Yes, he does.” Sidney frowns up at Nicky, trying to figure out if they’re even talking about the same people. “He likes you. Likes you with Alex. Actually, you’re the reason Geno’s with me.”

Nicky doesn’t need to say anything for his expression to clearly ask:  _What_.

 “Yeah. He wasn’t going to pair again, but at your anniversary party, you convinced him to trust people again. To, like, accept that love can have pain and doesn’t last forever but that’s no reason to spend eternity without pairing ever again.”

Nicky blinks at him.

Sidney adds, “He says you were drunk at the time.”

“I probably was,” Nicky admits before rubbing his face a little in frustration. “I wish I were now, too.” In answer to Sidney’s quizzical look, he says, “I don’t drink when Alex and I are fighting.” He drops his hands to his sides and looks away.

Sidney’s had enough and reaches up to touch Nicky’s wrist. He can’t reach Nicky’s neck from where he’s seated on the floor, but when his fingers find Nicky’s pulse, Nicky visibly relaxes. His skin is too warm. Sidney guesses that his cooler touch feels nice.

He’s caught off-guard by a bolt of lust that rips across his chest like lightning, leaving sizzling embers in its wake. His entire face immediately heats and he's left a little dumbfounded, enough that Nicky murmurs, "Hi, Geno," to cover up his awkward silence.

Zhenya's standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between Nicky's wrist and Sidney's slack-jawed expression. "Zhenya, don't sneak up like that," Sidney says, trying to sound scolding.

"Don't sneak up," Zhenya replies, although his lust is still clouding his mind so densely that Sidney can't tell if Zhenya's agreeing to not sneak up, or just absently repeating what Sidney says.

Sidney waits for Zhenya to calm down and when it doesn't happen, he smiles at Zhenya incredulously. "Geno, what…?"

"Sweaty," Zhenya responds. His voice is just above a rumble. He doesn't add anything else, although Sidney gets a general idea of what's making Zhenya's mind get steamed up: Sidney on the floor, Nicky sweaty, both of them smelling so safe and nourished.

"Sorry," Nicky murmurs, misinterpreting. "I'll shower." He gently pulls his sweaty wrist out of Sidney's grasp and heads upstairs.

“Nicky? Really?” Sidney asks, waiting until Nicky’s too far away to hear. For some reason he can’t stop grinning, staring at Zhenya in incredulous joy. Zhenya has always talked a big game about how boring Nicky is, how lazy he is, how he praises Sasha too much and inflates Sasha’s already-oversized ego, but this is new. “You think he’s hot?”

“He’s hot with you, you and him, sweaty and red.” Zhenya’s eyes focus and he narrows them at Sidney. “If you tell Sasha I’m say this, he’s kill me, you know.”

“I guess you’ll have to convince me to keep quiet about it, then,” Sidney says, deliberately lounging on the floor and stretching like a cat. “After all, I’m jealous. My cold-blooded pair is looking at other humans.” He’s full of shit but Zhenya’s so captivated that he isn’t even blinking. “So jealous. Maybe I should tell Sasha.”

“No,” Zhenya barks in Russian and jerks forward, straddling Sidney’s hips. Sidney’s smile gets even more smug.

 

-

 

The woods around Zhenya’s house are huge and untamed. Zhenya goes on walks through them at night because he’s a fearless idiot and Blondie follows him because Blondie’s almost as stupid. Alex accompanies him because it’s a way to get out of the house. Mike and Tom have cottoned on to the persisting conflict between Alex and Nicky and they silently blame Alex for it, because Nicky’s mood swings are a clear enough indication that he has something to be upset about.

(“Mood swings” may not be the right term. Nicky doesn’t drink when Alex isn’t biting, so he’s stopped drinking, but also stopped wearing actual shirts and pants. He wears basketball shorts—borrowed from Sidney, as if Alex would ever dress him in someone else’s clothes—and tank tops. He pulls his hair back in a messy half-ponytail. He eats chips right out of the bag. All the while, he stays calm and collected, and Alex reminds himself that Nicky’s not doing any of this out of spite. He’s doing it because he’s paired and nobody is biting him and his body temperature is so high that if he weren’t paired, his brain would be cooking in his skull. His mood isn’t swinging—Alex is failing as a pair.)

“You’ve gone from being an adequate pair for a good man, to being a shitty pair for a saint,” Zhenya says, unhelpfully. “I thought you came here to propose.”

“Fuck you, I’m going through something,” Sasha responds, watching with envy as Blondie gracefully hops from a fallen log onto a tree branch. “Are these hiking boots waterproof?”

“Remember when you were thrilled to move in with me, into a house without electricity? If only you’d known what a whiner you’d eventually be.” Zhenya waves the flashlight around a little. “I love these woods. Have you seen _Blair Witch_?”

“No, who’s she,” Sasha responds absently. He doesn’t even care that it doesn’t sound like a question. He’s too busy trying to keep himself from stepping on animal burrows.

“Your mom,” Zhenya answers immediately and then laughs at his own unfunny joke.

They walk along for a while, the only sound the crunching of dead leaves under their feet and occasionally Blondie hissing at Sasha. They end up at the side of the lake, again, and Zhenya stares out at it blankly. The moon and stars are hidden by the clouds and Zhenya’s memento mori rings clink a little against the metal of the flashlight as he turns it off.

Something about that reminds Alex of the rings in his pocket. The wedding rings. He stares out at the blackness of the lake and asks, “Have you thought any more about taking your leave?”

Zhenya doesn’t startle, and doesn’t turn to face Sasha. He lets the silence drag a little before answering, and this time, his air isn’t cruel. “Every now and then, but not like I’m planning it.”

Sasha thinks about the memento mori rings he’s got in his drawer back in his house, and the way he took them all off when he and Nicky paired. Like he was—

“I… think I’m planning it,” Sasha says, and Zhenya jerks to face him. Sasha doesn’t know how long he’s been planning it, but he’s— “When I met Nicky, I threw all my rings in a bag, stopped wearing them. The ones made of Gertrude’s hair and Irina’s portrait and—I stopped wearing them as soon as Nicky and I paired. I didn’t think about why.”

Zhenya is stiff in both posture and tone as he responds, “When, Sasha. When are you going to take your leave?”

It takes a moment for Sasha to realize that Zhenya is panicking. Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, he’s rattled at the idea of Sasha passing onto the next life. He’s afraid of having another memento mori ring on his fingers, this one with Sasha’s name or face on it. He could say something funny, _I didn’t know you cared_ , or _are you gonna cry_ and it would lighten the mood and insult Zhenya all at once, would make Sasha look bold and Zhenya look weak, and—

But it’s too dark out for either of them to see. Neither of them would look like anything. Despite everything, or because of everything, Sasha can’t bring himself to joke about this. “Centuries from now. I don’t know. Whenever Nicky goes, and I don’t think he wants to go for a long, long time. He’s obsessed with Tom and Mike, and he takes care of himself, and he’s happy.”

Zhenya looks back out at the calm waters of the lake. Blondie winds herself around Zhenya’s ankles and he leans over, picking her up and petting her even as she hisses at Sasha. “So until now, you thought you’d want to live past Nicky leaving you, and now you know you don’t.”

“No, if he left me, I’d still stay. For Tom, and Mike, and you. But if he lets himself die, I’d wanna go.” Sasha is suddenly grateful for the darkness. It keeps everything horrific hidden.

Zhenya coos a little at Blondie. She reaches out and scratches Sasha’s arm, her little claws digging in enough to draw hints of blood. “Good, my baby, good job,” Zhenya coos at the little beast. To Sasha, he says, “And you think that’s special? Even humans do that. One dies, and the other dies a month later. It happens all the time.”

Sasha hasn’t heard this before. “What?”

“You think you invented all this shit because your social circle is four people big, and two of those people are babies. You need to get out more.” Zhenya puts Blondie down and turns on the flashlight, pointing it the way they came. “So you’re gonna tell him that you’ve just realized that you’re his ‘ride-or-die chick.’” He says the last bit in English.

Sasha starts walking down the shitty not-trail that they came from, stepping carefully over logs. “He might take it badly.”

“He’s already taking it pretty badly, you idiot,” Zhenya responds, shining the flashlight higher so Sasha can see better. “I can’t believe it’s been four centuries and I still have to teach you stuff.”

Sasha can’t help but smile. “I’d pay ten thousand rubles to hear you explain to Nicky what ‘ride-or-die chick’ means.”

Zhenya accepts immediately. They’re joined shortly by Blondie and a dead mouse that she presents to Zhenya. The rest of the walk back is spent listening to Zhenya praise Blondie in three languages about how proud he is, how beautiful Blondie is, and how much fiercer she is than “that lump Sasha.” (Sasha, for his part, can’t stop smiling.)


	2. Chapter 2

Nicky is on the couch when Alex and Old Zhenya get back, sweating through his tank top and watching TV. It’s the vampire show again, and the Swedish guy that Nicky likes is covered in blood for some reason. Alex hovers in the doorway, waiting for Nicky to notice him.

“It’s getting difficult for Tom to be around me,” Nicky says, not looking at Alex. His voice is a bit frosty. “He sees me like this and he wants to help. He knows _how_ to help. He remembers how I taste.”

“That’s kind of TJ thing to say,” Alex says, trying to joke.

Nicky doesn’t find it funny. “I’m glad TJ isn’t seeing us like this.” He reaches back and fixes his ponytail. His hair is sweaty and un-brushed.

“You want Tom to bite?” Alex asks, and Nicky’s gaze snaps right to him. _I’ve stepped in it now_ , Alex thinks to himself, cringing.

“Yes,” Nicky spits, voice barely louder than a whisper. “It’s hard for me to be around him, because I want him to, I want him to bite my neck and cool me down and cook for me and—”

“Lars!” Alex interrupts, not sure whose anger is burning brighter in his chest. Nicky’s, probably. Nicky’s anger is so infrequent, and usually on Alex’s behalf. When he’s angry at Alex, he makes only direct, devastating hits—the kind of verbal attacks that Alex wishes he didn’t hear come out of Nicky’s mouth because he can’t ever forget them. 

Nicky quiets, and the air pressure in the room seems to slowly fall. Alex’s shoulders relax after a moment and Nicky pauses his TV show. He feels sorry, and that regret unfurls slowly in Alex’s chest. He sits down by Nicky and keeps his voice quiet, trying not to feed his own frustration. “I’m make things hard for you. It’s okay you want Tom to bite.”

“I want _you_ to bite, but I want to know what’s wrong.” Nicky is staring at the TV, unseeing. The screen is paused on a frame of a swamp at night. Alex stares at it too, concentrating on the way Nicky feels and sounds instead of how he looks. “But if you can’t talk to me,” Nicky adds quietly, “then at least talk to someone. You can bite me if I know you’re talking to someone about it.”

“I talked to Old Zhenya.” Alex reaches out slowly across the couch, still facing forward.

Nicky’s hand meets Alex’s, and his skin is burning hot. Alex pulls on him until Nicky finally tips onto his side, staring at the TV, head resting on Alex’s thigh. Alex runs his fingers through Nicky’s hair, rests his palms on Nicky’s cheeks, tries to cool down the redness. The relief that Nicky feels makes Alex’s spine tingle. Impulsively, he adds, “But I want… I’m ready. I can tell you.”

Nicky gently grunts in response, more relaxed than he’s been in what feels like forever.

“I’m think about dying. Taking my leave,” Alex says.

Nicky’s entire body goes rigid and he jerks into a sitting position, and every fiber of his being is on high alert. His terror and desperation are so strong that they drown out every logical cell in Alex’s brain. “ _No_ ,” Nicky orders, voice tight. It’s a command, not a protest or a pleading.

Alex realizes belatedly that he really should have phrased it very differently. This is Nicky’s most hated subject in the entire world and Alex just sprung it on him without even giving him a time frame.

“Not now, not soon. Calm down.” Alex tries to manhandle Nicky back down to where he was, but Nicky is rigid. No amount of calm reassuring talk from Alex will get him to acquiesce until Alex explains, so he does. “I’m wait for long time. I promise. Long, long time.”

“I already knew that. Why are you thinking about it now.” Nicky’s voice is so tight that he can’t even make actual questions. His tension is like a chain wrapping around Alex’s ribs. He’s sweating through his undershirt, something hideous he borrowed from Sidney that’s so plain it makes Alex cringe. Nicky’s face is pink, and he’s clenching his jaw, and Alex tries not to feel like garbage.

Alex doesn’t know how to explain it, really, somehow. The mourning rings, the wedding rings, the… but he does know the relevant part of it. “I realized,” he says carefully, “that after you and me are done, if you die, I want to move on, too.”

This does not seem to be calming Nicky. Alex hurries to continue. “I’m not saying it like threat, okay? If you get tired, if you want to take leave, I support you.” Alex realizes faintly that he’s making things worse, but he can’t stop babbling because Nicky is giving him _no feedback whatsoever_. “But even normal humans say, ‘until death do us part,’ and I thought, I don’t want to take wedding ring off to put on mourning ring instead, after you die. Maybe make one for Zhenya, though, your hair would be pretty on mourning ring.” Oh God, he’s making it _so_ much worse. “I’m sorry, that’s weird thing to say, I—”

“Wedding ring?” Nicky asks, voice soft again. The invisible chain is gone, leaving aftershocks of adrenaline in its wake.

At least this, Alex prepared for. He squirms a little, enough to get the ring box out of his pocket, and holds it out to Nicky. “I planned this trip to make proposal special. Old Zhenya sucks and Sidney is still kind of stranger but proposing to you at home, like the other times, isn’t right.”

Nicky’s not listening. He’s opened the box and he’s staring at the rings inside, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. “Jesus, Alex.”

Alex made sure to pick rings that matched and were worthy of Nicky. He wanted them to sparkle so brightly that nobody would ever doubt that Alex could provide for Nicky, a symbol of everything that Alex has provided Nicky with for almost a century. A stone to symbolize their house, a stone to symbolize food, a stone to symbolize their kindred, a stone to symbolize his love… and so on.

“I won’t be able to type with this on. It’s huge,” Nicky says, putting it on himself anyway.

“Whatever, you don’t like typing anyway.” Alex responds, and laughs at the brief annoyed look Nicky gives him at the teasing. Nicky’s heart is full. Nicky’s thrilled with the ring. Alex feels better than he has in weeks.

Nicky scoots forward on his knees and leans against Alex’s side, pulling out the other ring and putting it on Alex’s finger. “Your meltdown was just because you realized that after us, you’d be ready to move on?”

“Yeah. Before you, I just… lived, and until we had Tom and Mike, I thought I still might be able to… live, you know. Maybe get over it.” Alex runs the edge of his thumb over the stones in his own ring. “But now… we all move on.”

Nicky takes Alex’s hand and holds it on his forehead, closing his eyes, blatantly using Alex as an ice pack. Alex smiles helplessly and continues, “Like when people win awards. Stand up there, say ‘thank you,’ give speech, and leave. Don’t keep standing after that.”

“I’m not an award that you’ve won,” Nicky mumbles, feigning crossness.

“True. Awards are for people that do work. You come right at me, no effort from me,” Alex shoots back, grinning.

“And I regret it every day.” Nicky’s grinning even as he lies. He opens his eyes and smiles at Alex fondly. “I’ve told you again and again that if you died, I’d let myself pass on. Why was this so scary for you to realize, that if it was you, you’d do the same thing?”

And there’s the question that’s been hovering at the edge of Alex’s mind, and—

Nicky paired at 27, Alex paired in his 400s. Nicky came to him at the speakeasy, stood up and walked to him and told him he preferred men and wanted to pair. Nicky saw Tom in an alley, shivering and dying, and offered his wrist. Nicky blindly believed that someone would find Tom and that he should stay with Tom until that happened, even when Alex tried to take the easy way out, terrified of losing Nicky. Nicky convinced Old Zhenya that love was always worth it, despite everything. Nicky had taken the menacing pamphlets as a child and become attracted to a life that he was told would kill him. Nicky hadn’t even hesitated when putting the ring on his own finger.

Alex pretends like his voice isn’t choked and raspy. “You’re always the brave one.”

Nicky lurches up a little and takes the back of Alex’s head, pulling him down to his neck. Alex obediently bites and the relief is immediate, the hunger that he’d been trying to ignore receding like the waves falling away from the shore. “Tom and Mike will be so relieved,” Nicky murmurs, throat vibrating.

 _Who are Tom and Mike_ , Alex wonders dimly. Nicky tastes so nice. Nicky’s too hot. Someone should be taking care of that. _Me, I’ll do that,_ Alex thinks.

“Old Zhenya will be disappointed, though,” Nicky continues. “He’s… attracted to me, now that I’m sweaty and not wearing clothes you picked.”

Alex’s grip on Nicky’s ribs and neck tightens. When Nicky answers his unasked question, he sounds smug. “He didn’t say anything, but I’ve known him for eighty years. I can tell. For some reason, he thinks I can’t.”

Alex licks the wound closed—it’s enough for now, he’ll bite again and again later—and looks at Nicky consideringly. His thoughts come back to him as if he was in a haze, and he’ll be the first to admit that he kind of _was_ checked out as soon as his teeth sank in. He takes Nicky’s pulse, relieved by the familiarity of the ritual, and then continues the conversation. “Do you think he’s hot, too?”

“No,” Nicky answers immediately. “Too many teeth.” He smiles teasingly at Alex before rubbing at his own arms a little. His temperature is already dropping, but he’s still covered in drying sweat. A terrible combination.

“Let’s take a bath,” Alex says, and Nicky primly takes Alex’s chilly arm.

 

-

 

Sidney had thought that Nicky and Alex had made up. Old Zhenya had seen Alex biting, after all, and then they’d heard the bath running. The only person that actually draws baths in the house is Alex, for Nicky, and so Sidney had thought everything was going to be fine.

Everything is not fine. Nicky’s napping on the couch, which isn’t unusual. He’s on his back and his hair is damp, and he’s got some bite marks on his neck (unmistakably Alex’s—the blank spot where Alex’s missing tooth is a dead giveaway, but Zhenya had warned Sidney never to mention it, seeing as how Zhenya was the one that had knocked it out). Nicky’s less flushed and looks, for the most part, better. But his clothes are a mess.

Old Zhenya had explained a long time ago that Alex was Nicky’s “stylist” and then guffawed for two minutes straight, and then the topic had never come up again. But nobody would dress Nicky in this: a black shirt that’s half-pleather and half-tee shirt with some gold emblem right on the nipple, and pants that are half-jeans, half-sweatpants. There’s a denim waist and denim pockets and the rest is gray sweatpants, and on his feet are gold socks. He looks like his outfit used to be real clothes and then got fused together in the laundry.

Zhenya must sense his concern because he comes rumbling down the hallway, Blondie at his heels. Blondie hisses at Sidney before sucking up to Zhenya by winding around Zhenya’s ankles and purring. Sidney doesn’t take it personally.

“I thought things were better between Alex and Nicky, but look at this.” Sidney keeps his voice down so Nicky won’t wake up. “I guess they’re still fighting.”

“What?” Zhenya asks, sounding utterly unconcerned.

“I thought Alex dressed him,” Sidney prompts, watching as Blondie abandons Zhenya to go sniff Nicky.

Zhenya snorts. “This what Alex likes. Alex makes him wear this.”

Blondie hops up on the couch and continues to sniff Nicky. Sidney braces himself for Blondie to bite Nicky or at least hiss, but it doesn’t happen. “Those are the kinds of clothes Alex puts Nicky in?”

“Alex loves ugly things,” Zhenya confirms succinctly.

“Oh, so _that’s_ why he loves you,” Sidney says and laughs when Zhenya immediately looks mock-outraged.

“I’m teach everything to Sasha, I’m give up so much for him, make sure he knows everything,” Zhenya protests.

Blondie sniffs at Nicky’s hair one last time and settles down against Nicky’s neck, curling up and taking a nap. Nicky doesn’t even stir. Sidney stares again at the sw—the jea—the pants. “Taught him everything except how to dress.”

Apparently Zhenya can only stand a certain amount of other-person-criticizing-Alex at a time. “ _You_ wear _Crocs_ ,” Zhenya bristles, and Sidney muffles his own laughter behind a hand.

 

-

 

Tom's the first one to catch on, because of course he is. Alex has no idea why he expected any different. "Are. Are those, uh," Tom says eloquently over breakfast. He's staring at Nicky's engagement ring, which is going to double as a wedding ring, Alex and Nicky have already decided. "Are you getting married?"

"Yes!" Alex crows, and he's so proud and he's so happy and he embellishes it all for Tom, who has spent, like, a quarter of his conscious memorable life worrying that he's ruined Alex and Nicky's relationship for good. "I buy rings, I propose, Nicky _finally_ says yes!"

Across the breakfast table, Nicky beams. Normally he'd give Alex some shit, Alex knows, but--it's different, in front of Tom. Everything's different in front of him. "Alex wants a huge ceremony, but I don't. I won that fight so it's going to be a small wedding."

Mike is already grinning, babbling some congratulations and glancing up at Zhenya to gauge his reaction, but Tom's still staring at Nicky's ring. He clears his throat and asks awkwardly, "So, uh, is it here? In Pennsylvania, or back home? I need to buy plane tickets if it’s far away.”

“Um,” Mike mumbles from Tom’s left. “I can’t really afford that right now.”

Tom blinks and then realizes his mistake. “Oh, no, sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“You think I’m not buy you plane tickets myself?” Alex says, mostly to cover up the awkwardness. “Of course I’m arrange everything.” He pauses and look at Nicky and tries to imagine Nicky making intense declarations of extreme emotion in front of an observant crowed. “But I’m thinking of maybe doing it like a party. Rings already on, paperwork can be filed anytime.”

Nicky’s head swivels immediately so he can look at Alex. Nicky’s projecting waves of strong gratitude and Alex reaches out to tuck Nicky’s hair behind his ear. Alex wants entire gardens cut just to decorate the church, wants a twelve-course meal, an eight-tiered cake, an entire cathedral full of people listening to their vows. Alex wants enough fireworks to light up the night, wants hundreds of pictures taken and wants them both to wear heavy crowns. Alex wants—Alex wants—

He wants Nicky to be happy.

He runs his fingers through Nicky’s hair a little, and lets it all go—the cathedral, the crowns, the fireworks. Nicky would be happiest in a small party, probably in their backyard, a place he’s always felt safe, surrounded by people he knows. Alex runs his chilly fingertips lightly against Nicky’s still-overheated neck. It would be like their anniversary party, an event where Nicky had gotten drunk and convinced Zhenya that love is worth it even if it doesn’t last forever, and then didn’t even remember doing it. He’d gotten tipsy so Alex would drag him away from the party to bite him and make love to him. Alex had never regretted abandoning that party. God, Nicky’d felt so good, and so had Alex, and all the shared soreness the next day was worth it.

Nicky breaks Alex’s gaze to look down at where Blondie has jumped into his lap. Apparently Blondie likes Nicky now, for reasons nobody can really identify. It brings Alex back to earth and he looks around the dining room awkwardly, letting his hand drop away from Nicky’s hair.

“You’re finally back with us,” Old Zhenya barks in Russian. “You’re both nauseating.”

Alex ignores him. “The wedding is going to be at our home,” he says in English, addressing the entire room. “Everyone in this room is invited. Small party in our backyard.”

“When?” Sidney asks, crossing the kitchen to get to a paper calendar hanging on the wall. _No wonder he likes Nicky_ , Alex thinks.

“We don’t know yet.” Alex smiles at Sidney. “But when we know, you’re invited.”

"But you’re sure you want me and Mike there? We can clear out, if you need…?" Tom asks, and it's like the air has been sucked out of the dining room.

Alex feels Nicky's pain like a punch to the gut, and it irrationally makes him want to shout at Tom in response. That won't help anything. Nicky's hurt because despite his best efforts, Tom's still skittish around him, unsure of the role he takes in Nicky's life. "Of course you're invited," Nicky murmurs. "You're our family." Nicky's face is calm, but the pain is deep, and terribly familiar.

"I just thought since, like..." Tom's still talking. Mike has tensed up and seems to be signaling at Tom to shut it. Mike's always been better at accepting Alex and Nicky's love than Tom has, but he wasn't there for those three years. "I mean, if it weren't for me, you could've gotten married sooner." The table is silent other than Blondie hissing at Sidney for some presumed infraction. "It might be, uh, awkward." Tom sounds like he knows that things are awkward and just getting worse and can't dig himself out of the pit he's landed himself in.

"That's what you think?" Nicky asks, frowning. The pain is decreasing. Alex wants to reach out and hold his hand, hold his neck, but Nicky is not physically affectionate in front of other people very often.

"I... yeah?" Tom answers, turning to look at Alex. "I know you'd proposed before, but the timing wasn't right, but if I'd never showed up, you could've--"

"Stop that," Old Zhenya says, and Alex's surprise mingles with Nicky's. Old Zhenya sounds like he fucking means it. "Not your fault what happen, and now you family. Don't talk about those things. He does good job take care of you, you're talk like you don't want to be here."

"Of course I do," Tom snaps. "I'm just trying to be considerate--"

"What's Alex and Nicky ever do to make you think they happy when you gone?" Zhenya interrupts again, and smacks his hand on the counter for emphasis. "If they don't want you, they don't keep you. Save you and then throw you at vampire community. But they take you in, keep you, give up lots for you because they love you. If they say, you don't believe. They stay with you, you don't believe. They feed you, you don't believe."

Tom stands up, and Mike looks like he's torn between standing up for Tom and dragging Tom back down to his chair. "Look, you don't even know me," Tom starts.

Once again, Zhenya interrupts him. "What they can do to make you believe?" he snaps, scowling at Tom.

"I--" Tom starts, and then seems to run out of steam. He looks down at Nicky and then Alex and then looks back at Zhenya.

"They're do anything for you," Zhenya mutters tiredly, like the anger drained everything from him. He probably needs to bite soon. "Being ancestor is like that. Even when descendant is sudden."

 _Oh,_ Sasha thinks, and tightens his jaw a little. He can hide the emotions on his face but not the ones welling up under his ribs and Nicky reaches over to touch Sasha's hand.

Tom swallows and watches Sasha for a moment, and Alex realizes that Tom heard it this time, really _heard_ Zhenya, and what Zhenya _meant_. "Okay," Tom says, sitting back down. "Okay. Uh, Mike and I will be at the wedding. Of course."

Nicky leaves his hand on top of Sasha's but looks at Tom, his hurt dissipated. "You think you got in the way of our marriage. The only reason I said 'yes' to Alex this time was because of you." Tom blinks, and Nicky continues, "I wanted you to see how much I care for him."

"We already knew that," Mike says, but it's unconvincing.

Nicky's squirming on the inside at having to be so vulnerable and so verbal at the same time, and maybe that's why he lets Mike get away with such an obvious lie. "Well, honestly, I wanted a very large ring," he says, waving his hand. "It's worth marrying Alex to get to have a party and some jewelry."

Sasha lets out a huge breath and Zhenya chuckles, coming back into the dining room from the kitchen carrying the Stolichnaya and shot glasses. "Who want drinks?" he asks, and after he pours, everyone clinks glasses.

 

-

 

The atmosphere around the entire house changes after Alex and Nicky make up. Sidney is relieved, and starts lifting weights with Nicky to pass some time. Nicky's fit, a good spotter, and easy to talk to, or not talk to. Nicky can handle silence in a way that even Sidney can't quite rival.

"We don't have as many weights," Nicky's explaining during a break while Sidney gulps down water. "We have a treadmill and some free weights but the setup isn't as nice. Maybe I'll fix it up when we get back home."

Sidney shrugs. "There are other things Geno spends money on that are kinda dumb, so I guess this purchase was one of the less... like, dumb ones."

Nicky seems intrigued. He sits on the weight bench and pushes his sweaty hair out of his face. "Like what?"

Sidney mentally tallies the stupid purchases Geno's made in the last couple weeks. "Well, the VR. What do we need that for? It's going to waste a ton of time." Nicky's staring at Sidney blankly. "Virtual reality," Sidney clarifies. Still nothing. "Here, I'll show you," he says instead, going into the hallway.

Nicky follows and Sidney starts powering on all the miscellaneous overly-expensive illogically useless VR stuff. "Geno was going on and on about how we can use it for personal development or education or something. I can feel when he's lying. I think he just wants to slay dragons or something and he's too embarrassed to admit it." He points down at all the games, most not even properly opened yet. "Some of these I've never even heard of. Anyway, wanna try one out?"

Nicky still isn't following, and Sidney holds out the headset. "Here, put this on."

"I don't know how," Nicky says, and leans his head down.

Sidney takes the hint and puts it on Nicky, making sure it fits correctly. "Can you see?"

"Oh!" Nicky responds, and Sidney puts the controllers in his hands (his hands, that are too hot even for someone who'd just been exercising. It'll take weeks to heal, and Sidney tries not to think about it). "What do I--" Nicky starts, and then moves his hands. "Oh," he repeats.

"Yeah, you can choose whatever you want. Geno bought so many games, indie ones and popular ones, just go for it." Sidney wants a shower, anyway. He watches Nicky for a couple minutes as Nicky carefully learns to navigate the virtual world. "Let us know if you need anything," Sidney adds.

"Mm," Nicky responds, absolutely not listening.

Sidney smiles and leaves him be, shutting the door behind him. He showers and then looks for Geno, who he finds on the back porch holding Blondie and staring out through the darkness at the waves. Sidney steps out and waits a few minutes for his eyes to adjust, and when they do, he can see Alex sitting on the porch railing, looking in the same direction as Geno.

It's one of those moments that Alex and Geno have, and sometimes Sidney can't tell if he should be there or not. The way Geno and Alex are together isn't something Sidney entirely understands, but how could he? He's never had an ancestor; he's never had a descendant. He hasn't spent five centuries on Earth, let alone known anyone for even a fraction of that time. Sidney tries to imagine that, tries to figure out what it would be like to be alive for that long, and to know someone for the whole time, like Alex has known Geno. Sidney's not sure his love for someone else could last that long, but he'd run out of hatred after that long, too. Maybe that's why Geno and Alex are the way they are. They've sort of run out of hate, and what's remaining is the residual traces of love that they just can't quite get rid of.

Sometimes, Geno will space out and stare at nothing for a few minutes, and Sidney doesn't question it. Geno comes back to himself before too long every time, and sometimes Sidney thinks that when Geno goes away in his mind like he does, he's visiting the people he's left behind. The people that he's known that have taken their leave, the people whose names are engraved in Geno's rings. Sidney's grateful that at least Alex can be visited in person.  

"You worry about something," Geno says, and Sidney steps forward, the deck creaking under his feet.

"Not worried, no," Sidney says, "more like happy. Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're want to know when dinner is ready," Geno accuses, voice warm.

Sidney shrugs even though nobody's looking at him. "I could cook," he offers. "Tom and Mike and me."

"Not Nicky?" Alex asks curiously, turning around to look at Sidney. "I'm cook for him usually but he's okay if he tries."

"Nicky's busy with VR," Sidney explains. "I just showed him, I don't want to interrupt."

"VR," Alex says blankly.

 _They're really good for each other,_ Sidney thinks _, but they're not venturing out of their bubble very often._ "Yeah. Virtual reality. I don't know what game he's playing but he seemed to like it. I showed him after we finished lifting weights."

Geno turns around too, facing Sidney with a glare. "You and Nicky lift weights, not invite me?" he asks accusingly.

"Why invite you, skinny?" Alex barks out with a laugh.

"Not to lift weights, to--" Geno starts, and Sidney hastily interrupts him. "Geno lifts weights occasionally." The last thing this visit needs is Alex tossing Geno into the waves because Geno likes looking at sweaty Nicky.

“Sure,” Alex says, sounding a bit skeptical, like he thinks he’s being kept out of the loop.

Sidney pretends like that’s not exactly what’s happening. “So, anyway, dinner.”

“Twenty minutes,” Zhenya says before stepping forward and taking Sidney’s shoulders, leaning down and giving him a smooch on the neck. “Go relax. Watch vampire show.”

“Vampire show?” Alex perks up. “With sexy blond Swedish guy?”

Sidney feels his face heat. Thank God it’s dark. “Uh, yeah. Why, do you watch it?”

“Nicky does. That show is why he let me get TV again.” Alex grins. “Go have fun.”

“I’ll tell Nicky,” Sidney offers before going inside and heading upstairs. “Nicky,” he calls, “dinner’s in 20.”

When he opens up the door to the videogame room, he sees immediately that Nicky's kneeling on the ground, arms outstretched and hands clasped steadily around something invisible. “Shit,” Nicky murmurs down at something only he can see. “I’m going to pull out your heart.”

“Uh. Dinner in 20,” Sidney blurts from the doorway.

“I’ll be done by then,” Nicky promises without moving from where he’s crouched over… something.

Sidney hesitantly goes back downstairs and watches his show until it’s time for dinner. Nicky shows up on time, smiling and talkative. “VR is so fun,” he tells Alex.

(Later, Sidney tells Zhenya what he saw Nicky doing. Zhenya inspects the games and finds the only one open is some kind of surgery simulation thing. Sidney breathes out a tiny sigh of relief, and Zhenya laughs at him.)


	3. Decades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lord forgive me but i'm back on my bullshit
> 
> no beta, we die like mne
> 
>  
> 
> ****

The entire reason for going to Sidney and Geno’s house was to have a romantic proposal. That plan had to get scrapped, but everyone sticks around anyway, enjoying each other’s company. Nicky’s temperature finally gets back to normal after a few more days, and Sidney teaches Tom and Mike new workouts. Old Zhenya and Alex go with Blondie for long walks, and Nicky explores Pittsburgh at night with Sidney in tow. The little visit goes nicely, for the most part.

The small part that’s going poorly is the ever-widening chasm between Tom and Zhenya. Alex has no idea what to do about it. Both of them are short fuses attached to loose cannons, and while Alex and Zhenya haven’t physically hit each other in nearly a century, he’s pretty sure that if Tom initiated something, Zhenya would immediately follow through. The idea of his ancestor fighting his descendant is _agonizing_.

Alex tries to defuse the tension by constantly annoying Zhenya as much as possible. If Zhenya’s angry at Alex, he reasons, then he’ll have less anger to spend on Tom. To anyone else, Alex’s efforts would be transparent and go unnoticed, but riling Zhenya up is so easy that it isn’t even satisfying when he manages it. Possibly as revenge, possibly because he’s just a total dick, Old Zhenya leaves an old photo album on the dining room table for Mike and Tom to find.

Alex finds out about the album because Nicky’s emotional bleed-through suddenly gets absolutely syrupy and warm in a way that makes Alex’s brain slow down and get stupid. One moment, Alex is sitting on their bed going through his suitcase, and the next moment, he’s engulfed in Nicky’s affection. It’s like getting drunk, except instead of alcohol, the intoxicant is Nicky.

(Nicky’s emotions are so intense, even though they’re often kept below the surface. Maybe _because_ they’re kept below the surface. Old Zhenya’s ancestor had said something like that when he’d first met Nicky, but Alex’s Latin wasn’t good enough to understand him. Zhenya had translated it into Russian for Alex as _still waters run deep_ , and now whenever Alex hears that proverb, he thinks of Nicky. He thinks of Old Zhenya’s ancestor, too; thinks about how that man had only needed an hour with Nicky to actually understand him. He thinks with some amount of bitterness how his own life might be different if he’d been turned by choice by someone who helped him plan it, made sure he had food ready, and didn’t leave him until he was ready. Someone who stuck around and rode a motorcycle and had a mullet.)

He makes his way downstairs while basking in the syrupy feeling, watching as Nicky flicks through the album from where he’s seated at the dining room table. Tom and Mike are parked in the chairs on either side of him as they watch on, absolutely attentive. Alex feels a weird surge of pride at how easily Nicky can command a room.

“That’s one of the first photos we took together,” Nicky is saying, pointing at a picture in black and white. Or more like brown and tan, really; photography has never really been an exact science. Alex shuffles over and joins the viewing party, looking down at a photo of himself and Nicky. They’re both wearing suits, and Alex looks flushed while Nicky looks pale. Nicky’s firmly parked on Alex’s lap, and Alex looks unbearably smug. Nicky looks sleepy in the photo, and he’s got a cigarette in his left hand.

“You used to smoke?” Tom asks, eyes wide.

“I thought you couldn’t do gay stuff back then,” Mike says, at exactly the same time.

Alex remembers when they got that photo taken. It had been mere hours after teaching Nicky how to ride him, and they’d been tempted to not even show up for the photography appointment. Nicky had smoked through the entire thing, fidgeting just to keep himself awake, and Alex had been unbearably distracted by the way Nicky moved as if his thighs were sore. Which they were. Because he’d just been riding Alex.

“It was normal for men to be loving and warm in pictures, back then,” current Nicky explains, gazing at the picture. “That stopped… probably during the Great Depression, and after. But men did it all the time before then.”

“That seems nice,” Mike says, resting his chin on his hand, staring down at the picture. “It’s too bad we can’t do that now.”

Nicky makes a tiny noise of derision and both Mike and Tom startle a little. “Sorry,” Nicky says, trying to soften his tone. “I’m sorry. The thing is, we were able to do those things openly because nobody thought we might actually _be_ lovers.” He stares blankly down at the photo. “It’s better now. No matter what it looks like, it’s better now.”

Alex feels a shot of regret down his chest. It’s irrational, but he wishes he could have protected Nicky from all of the ugliness that happened back then, and has kept happening this entire time. Things are better, but not always. People are more accepting, but not really. There are ebbs and flows of acceptance. Alex understands why Nicky is slow to grow roots.

“You used to smoke?” Tom repeats, as if no other conversations have happened, and it’s unbearably endearing.

“I did. Everyone did, back then.” Nicky watches Tom in amusement. “Didn’t you know that?”

Tom is blinking at Nicky in surprise. “Wait, do you still smoke?”

“Not for many decades.” Nicky swivels his head around a little to look at Alex, his gaze fond. When he speaks, he’s clearly still addressing Tom. “Someone requested that I stop.”

“You and Tom both scolded me when I made a joke about smoking,” Mike says, sounding confused. “But isn’t it okay? Since paired humans can’t get cancer or whatever?”

Nicky makes eye contact with Alex. Nicky must be thinking something steamy because the base of Alex’s spine sizzles, and he wants to press Nicky into a bed and push into him. “Well, Sasha?” Nicky asks, smirking slightly, and Alex wants to smack his ass with a belt.

Alex struggles to come back to the topic at hand. “Nicky coughed,” he says clumsily, forcing himself to look at Mike. Looking at Nicky isn’t helping things. “It’s waste of money. He was sneezing.”

None of that is the real reason, and Nicky isn’t going to let Alex get away with it this time. “And what else?” Nicky says, smug as hell.

Alex swallows thickly. “Ruins his smell.” He has to expend conscious effort not to flare his nostrils and take a whiff of Nicky’s scent. It’s extremely impractical how dumb Alex can get around his pair. “I ask him to stop using cologne, cigarettes, cigars, pipes, factory job, chemicals.”

The smell was secondary to the taste, but there is no way in hell Alex is going to talk to Tom and Mike about Nicky’s _flavor_. When Nicky’s blood had turned sweet, Alex had drank him pale every evening. The memory of it sets fire to Alex’s gums, and he has to clench his jaw to keep from dropping teeth.

“Kinda controlling,” Mike says, and Alex doesn’t think that Mike meant it, really, but the words came out of his mouth and Nicky’s temper flares underneath Alex’s gut.

While Nicky inhales to say something (that will no doubt be short, quiet, and emotionally devastating), Alex blurts, “Nicky’s so patient. I just like his smell. If he doesn’t want to give up those, it’s fine, I don’t feel bad. I just asked, and he agreed.”

Mike isn’t watching Alex, though; he’s watching Tom, who isn’t even looking at them. Alex realizes that Mike’s feeling something from his pair. “Oh my God. How long was your hair?” Tom blurts, and Alex sees that he’s turned the page and the current photograph is from the sixties. Nicky’s on his back on a bed, lying down beside an open suitcase half-full of stuff. His mouth is open like he’s talking. It’s impossible to actually see how long his hair is, because after it fans out beside his face, it disappears between his back and the sheets.

Alex knows from the smug look current Nicky is giving him that he must be projecting something _awfully_ tender.

“I was so happy,” Alex informs Tom, shameless. “So long. I got to brush it, and wash it, and work on it. Braids, too.”

“I kept that for twenty years, just long and wavy like that,” Nicky adds. “In the eighties, I got it permed.”

Mike chokes on his own tongue long enough that Tom scoots his chair around and pounds Mike’s back. Once Mike finally stops aspirating on his own saliva, he rasps out, “You had a perm.”

Nicky nods serenely and flips around the album until he finds a picture. “Here. I kept that for a while, but it grew out so then only the ends were curly and the roots were straight. I hated how that looked, so then I cut it in the late eighties.”

Tom cringes. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but why didn’t you just… perm it again when it got long?”

“Perms reek like hell,” Mike answers before Nicky gets a chance. Everyone at the table turns to stare at Mike in surprise, and he blushes. “I had a friend that got one when I was young. Alex probably hated the smell.” There’s a long pause and Mike looks up at Alex. “I mean. Maybe?”

Alex sees that Mike’s feeling uncertain again and claps Mike on the back. “Exactly. Perm smells bad. We got his hair cut, and I was sad for a while, but got over it.”

Nicky raises his eyebrows at Alex, unimpressed, and turns back to Mike to clarify, “Alex cried.”

Tom blinks at Alex. “It’s just a haircut, man,” he says. He sounds like he’s almost scornful of Alex, like an embarrassed teenage kid whose parent is being very uncool.

Surprisingly, Alex loves that Tom’s feeling relaxed enough to feel embarrassed of his silly parents. Instead of defending himself, he runs a hand through Nicky’s hair. “But it was pretty,” he says, sighing dramatically.

Nicky’s not giving off any emotions for Alex to process, but his expression is pensive. Maybe he doesn’t like Tom’s tone, or maybe he doesn’t want Alex to start feeling bad. For whatever reason, Nicky looks at Tom and explains quietly, “It wasn’t just a haircut. It just made him feel close to me.”

The kitchen falls oddly silent. Even Alex has no idea what Nicky’s saying, so Mike and Tom don’t have a prayer of following.

Upon seeing everyone’s blank expressions, Nicky sits back a little. “That long hair—he had to wash it, dry it, brush it. It was a lot of work. He did all of that work, and it took a lot of time, and he was happy just being with me and brushing my hair. Talking, touching. Sometimes we listened to records. Alex would sing along.”

Alex’s heartbeat picks up; on some level, he’d known that Nicky already knew that the hair wasn’t just hair, but it’s different to hear it out loud. Especially to hear it out loud to Mike and Tom—Nicky is really, _really_ trying to be honest and expressive and intimate, really trying to help heal everyone’s scars. It’s not easy for him, and Alex loves him all the more for trying.

“Is that why your hair was so messy when we met?” Mike asks, a little hesitant but like he’s trying to put in some effort too.

Nicky looks down at the picture again, unable or unwilling to make eye contact. He’s always been a brave one, though, and answers honestly. “Yes. Alex took care of my hair and my clothes and my food for… eighty years before that.” He’s stumbling on the math, like usual, and Alex is hopelessly endeared. “It was stupid, but.” Nicky clears his throat again. “I thought if I… if I did my own hair, and my own clothes, and own food, then that would mean he was really gone.”

There isn’t any distress coming from Nicky that Alex can feel, which surprises him until Nicky adds, “That was wrong. I see that now. Alex would never be really gone from me.”

Alex’s entire chest feels warm.

“But when you first met, in the 20s, did you have short hair then?” Mike asks, glancing from the picture up to Nicky’s face.

Nicky blinks, feeling faint surprise, and the edges of his lips turn up in a faint smile. He glances over at Alex. “Did I? I don’t even remember, do you?”

Alex deliberately puts on his Long-Story Voice. “Oh, first time I meet Nicky—I see him from across the speakeasy, he’s so beautiful, like angel, but also very sick, kind of thin—”

“No, don’t tell the whole thing,” Nicky interrupts, but he’s grinning.

Alex doesn’t even pause his monologue when he hears Zhenya’s loping gait on the stairs. “—coughing, but his eyes! His beautiful eyes. Same color as the moss on Old Zhenya’s stone house, the same color as soft sage plant, the same color as the skies during thunderstorm—”

Old Zhenya appears in the doorway in Alex’s peripheral vision just before groaning loudly. “Oh my God, we know, you love him,” Zhenya heckles in English.

Tom looks like he might want to snap something at Zhenya, and Alex heads that off by speaking even louder as he continues, “—soft gold hair, like honey, or wheat, in the fall. Like when plants are dying and they put on beautiful last show for all of us to see, that gold color.” Old Zhenya turns on a coffee grinder, eyebrows raised in a transparent effort to drown Alex out, but Alex just starts hollering louder. “Gold like the gold on engagement ring I gave Nicky, because it reminds me of that time, seeing him across the speakeasy—”

The coffee bean grinder turns off, and Nicky immediately asks, “How long was it?” He looks amused, cheeks dusted in pink. His soft expression is echoed by Mike, who is leaning forward with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on the heels of his hands as he listens to Alex in rapt attention. Tom’s watching Old Zhenya and frowning, while Zhenya’s nose is wrinkled in a sneer as he regards Alex with derision.

 _My family_ , Alex thinks happily. He actually stops his story and grins. “Same as now, just below jaw.”

Old Zhenya puts the coffeepot down, letting it clatter a little against the counter. “Wait,” he says, in Russian this time. “That entire story was just because someone asked you how long Nicky’s hair was on the day you met?”

Alex nods proudly. “You so graciously left out a photo album,” he answers, also in Russian, “and Tom and Mike have been asking questions.”

Zhenya squints at Alex suspiciously and then turns to look directly at Tom. “You see curly hair in 80s?”

“Yeah,” Tom responds, and he sounds like he’s trying not to cringe.

“So, so bad,” Zhenya declares.

“Yeah. So bad,” Tom agrees immediately. “I mean, it’s not Nicky’s fault, he’s—”

“Alex to blame,” Zhenya interrupts, nodding enthusiastically. “Not Nicky’s fault. Alex likes the ugly perm.”

Alex is positively gleeful—his ancestor and descendant are finally agreeing over something. He doesn’t really care that they’re agreeing that they both don’t understand beauty, and that they have bland and pedestrian taste. They’re united, for once.

He’s about to tease them anyway, to get them to feel more disgust at him (and therefore, more bonding with each other) when he gets a twinge of mischief in his chest. It’s not him this time, and he closes his mouth again and waits.

“I was always surprised how much you hated that,” Nicky says to Old Zhenya. He’s got that look in his eyes that Blondie gets when she has sighted prey. “You hated my long hair. The sixties, seventies, eighties… every time you saw me, you complained.”

Old Zhenya’s shoulders stiffen like if he just stands still, the cat won’t get him. “Looks bad,” Zhenya responds cautiously.

“Alex doesn’t think it looks bad. Why did you want me to cut it?” Nicky asks calmly.

By now, Alex thinks, Old Zhenya should know better than to think that Nicky hasn’t planned out every conversational possibility like the roots of a tree. Nicky’s playing chess with this conversation, while Old Zhenya is trying to play checkers.

“Just…” Old Zhenya’s gaze flicks over to Alex and then to Nicky. He clears his throat. “Just a joke.”

“You like how I look when my hair is short, right?” Nicky asks, seeming deliberately blasé.

Alex is pretty certain that Mike and Tom have no idea that the entire room just got six degrees warmer and that the air is charged with static electricity like lightning’s about to strike. They look like they might be getting bored of endless discussions about hair, and start flipping through the album again and murmuring to each other.

Zhenya pours coffee, looking determinedly down at the mug. “Uh, so-so. Okay-looking, I guess.”

He probably thinks that admitting that is going to get him out of admitting anything else. He’s absolutely wrong, Alex thinks happily. Nicky’s too smart for that. “But you _really_ hated that hair,” Nicky presses.

Sidney comes up behind Alex from the living room, dressed in a soft blue sweater and jeans and holding a book like he was in the middle of reading when Old Zhenya’s feelings interrupted him. He leans in a little and murmurs to Alex, “Geno’s uncomfortable. Is everything okay?”

“Perfect,” Alex whispers back.

“Long hair is fine,” Zhenya says, eyes widening when he turns and sees Sidney.

They seem to have some kind of silent conversation, because Geno clears his throat and awkwardly shifts his weight on his feet before looking back at Nicky. “Hair isn’t in ponytail or braid or anything, just loose. I don’t like that.” He sounds like he’d rather be having teeth pulled than talk about it.

It all clicks in Alex’s head, and he simultaneously wants to preen over having a vampire that’s older than him desire his pair, and wants to snarl at Old Zhenya in a very old world type of way. He wants to bite Nicky while Zhenya watches, wants to—

“What?” Nicky asks, and he hasn’t clued in yet because he isn’t a vampire. Alex glances at Tom and exhales a little in relief at Tom still being glued to the photo album, oblivious to what’s happening.

Sidney takes that chance to sell Zhenya out, and Alex’s respect for him grows immensely. “He likes it short, and if it’s long it should be in a ponytail or something,” Sidney hints to Nicky, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of laughing at Zhenya’s expense.

Zhenya shifts again and the wooden floor creaks. Alex can feel it when Nicky suddenly understands, the odd mix of pride and arousal hitting him like a freight train. “You hate that it covers my neck,” Nicky concludes, eyes wide. “You don’t care about the hair.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Zhenya protests, all bluster, but then all but flees into the night, clutching his coffee mug. He doesn’t run, but it’s definitely a bit of a power walk.

“I shouldn’t make fun of him,” Sidney says, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. Maybe he’s more interesting than Alex gave him credit for. He glances up at Alex, smile fading a little. “Are you mad? He’s not going to try anything, I just wanted to tease him.”

Alex smiles. “I’m fine. Not gonna kill him in his own home,” he says, reassuring, and Sidney breathes a sigh of relief. “Plenty of woods to kill him in,” Alex adds.

To his surprise, Sidney just laughs at that and responds, “Less messy,” before going out to the back deck, presumably to talk to Zhenya.

Alex is still preening and looks over at Nicky, pleased as hell. “My pair,” he marvels softly.

Nicky looks back at him and his moss-colored eyes are full of warmth. “Only yours,” he responds quietly, and Alex’s fangs threaten to drop. Nicky rarely talks like that, but when he does, it fills Alex’s head with noise and makes his rational thoughts disappear. “Mine,” he agrees, his voice nearly a growl.

Nicky’s eyes glaze over and he tips his head back just the slightest bit, but—

“You wore _legwarmers_?” Tom demands, sounding a little despondent as he looks at a photo of Nicky from the early eighties. “I can’t tell if those are leggings or tights. You look like you’re in a Jane Fonda video.”

Biting will have to wait. Alex tightens his jaw until he’s sure his fangs aren’t going to pop out, while Nicky answers, “Leggings. Tights looked weird with leg hair, and at the time our bathtub was too little for us both to sit in there.”

“Why would you both be in the tub?” Tom asks, his tone heavy like he already knows the answer.

“For Alex to shave my legs,” Nicky answers, absolutely calm. “We tried a few times, but we’re both too big to fit.”

Tom looks so pained that Alex has to laugh at him. “You—I used to be so afraid of you, I thought you were so cool.”

“Legwarmers were cool back then,” Alex protests, and then gestures at the picture. “Leg warmers good for the ankles, the joints.” He flips a few pages until he finds what he’s looking for. “But after that I fall in love with Kurt Cobain and so I changed Nicky’s look.”

“So cool,” Mike mumbles, staring at the picture of Nicky looking grunge.

“My hair was actually always shorter than Kurt’s, because he let his get to his armpits sometimes,” Nicky remarks. “But that was right after the perm, so I cut that off and had to wait for it to grow out.”

“How did you find that sweater?” Mike asks, looking at Alex in awe. “It looks exactly like the one Kurt wore. Hey, and it kind of matches Nicky’s eyes.”

“Who’s Kurt Cobain?” Tom asks, and Mike’s look of horror is so sincere that it makes Alex laugh out loud again.

 

-

 

Of course, because Old Zhenya is loving but also as petty as possible at all times, Alex shouldn’t drop his guard. Unfortunately, he does, because he’s too busy bonding with his family.

He includes Sidney as family now, his kindred, and eagerly listens to Sidney tell boring stories about boring books that he’s been reading. The thing is, Sidney’s delivery can sometimes make him seem duller than he is—the actual words are insightful and occasionally surprising. Nicky follows Alex’s lead and spends time around Sidney, and Alex eavesdrops enough to know they talk about pair human things, the kinds of things that Mike doesn’t know much about yet. Pair-human-for-decades type things. It warms Alex’s heart, and he’s pretty sure that it pleases Old Zhenya too.

Alex wakes up gripped by fear one evening, the kind that makes him think _fire_ or _flood_. He knows it isn’t coming from him; he wasn’t having a nightmare. He immediately reaches out and feels around for Nicky, tensing up more when he realizes he’s alone in bed. He stumbles to his feet in just his socks and pajama pants, heart sinking at the feeling of embarrassment that’s coming from Nicky in addition to the fright. Alex darts downstairs, feet thudding on the wooden steps.

“She’s very nice, Nicky, neighbors going to be gone for couple days so they ask me to watch her,” Old Zhenya is saying.

“Who’s a good girl?” Mike’s voice sounds unusually high pitched. “Who’s a good girl!”

 _Oh, it’s a dog_ , Alex thinks in relief; that’s better than a fire or a flood. And then: _oh, for fuck’s sake, Zhenya._

His theory is confirmed when he finally makes it into the living room. It’s like one of those gaudy paintings Zhenya used to have on his walls back when Alex was first turned: everyone is posed in a different way, as if the artist couldn’t get all the models to pose at the same time so they just did their best. Mike is sitting on the floor gently wrestling with a thrilled, knee-high brown dog while Tom stands near them. Zhenya is lounging back on the couch and smirking slightly while Tom keeps glancing between the closed bathroom door and Mike.

Alex sighs. “You’re such a dick,” he snaps at Zhenya in Russian.

“Oh, come on, she’s still pretty small,” Zhenya protests. “He’s so big compared to her, and he should really get over this. I’m doing him a favor.”

“All this because he got you to admit you want to bite him?” Alex notices Tom look up in alarm at his tone but doesn’t really care. “Grow up.”

Zhenya glares, standing up. “He embarrassed me in front of my descendant, and my great-descendant.”

“Which he wouldn’t have _done_ if you didn’t bother him about his hair for years,” Alex shoots back immediately.

Zhenya apparently has no response for that, and crosses his arms resentfully. Alex looks down and notes that the dog is really quite cute, and then carefully searches Tom’s face. Tom can make fun of Nicky’s clothes to his heart’s content but if he makes fun of this, Alex may just have to lock Tom in a room with Blondie so she can hiss and yowl at him for a few hours.

“Nicky is brave. Bravest person we know,” Alex declares to Tom, letting his tone get a sharp edge as a signal that this is not up for debate.

Tom blinks. “I… I know that?” When Alex doesn’t answer, Tom adds awkwardly, “I’d be dead now, if he hadn’t... been brave.”

Alex feels abruptly stupid for assuming that Tom’s suddenly forgotten everything that’s happened. For fuck’s sake, all Tom did was make fun of Nicky’s clothes yesterday, and now Alex is seeing him as the enemy. He softens and leans forward, and if Tom were any shorter he’d kiss the top of his head but instead he just gives him a brief bear hug.

When Tom relaxes, Alex pulls away. “You’re good descendant,” he says reassuringly before going over to the bathroom door. “Nicky, come out,” he calls. “We go drink wine on back deck together.”

Nicky pulls the door open a crack and peers out, looking at the dog and then at Alex. “She jumps up,” Nicky mumbles so quietly that Alex is sure nobody else can hear.

Alex turns and watches in relief as Mike securely holds the dog’s harness with two hands, keeping her facing away from the bathroom door. Mike smiles and Alex loves him. He turns back to Nicky. “Mike has her,” Alex murmurs to Nicky.

At that, Nicky opens the door and comes out. On the exterior, he looks calm, but he feels embarrassed and it makes Alex sad. He’ll have to prompt Tom to talk to Nicky about it. Later, though.

They go out together to the back deck, closing the door behind them. Alex pours them wine and watches Nicky’s engagement ring glint in the moonlight. “Old Zhenya’s a dick,” Alex says, trying to make Nicky feel less ashamed.

The tension has dropped away from Nicky’s shoulders enough that he shrugs. “He’s always like this.”

“I think he stole the dog, just to make you scared.” Alex glares out into the night.

“It’s just a dog, it’s not a big deal,” Nicky says. Alex wants to argue with him, because it kind of is a big deal to bring a dog in specifically to make someone scared, but then Nicky continues airily, “And if I start eating liver now, and borscht, and spinach, and eggs, and exercise indoors for hours and hours… that’s also not a big deal.” He lifts his chin a little in defiance. “It’s just healthy.”

Alex grins so widely it might split his face. “That’s my Nicky,” he murmurs in approval. Nicky’s going to look _delicious_ to Zhenya, going to make Zhenya stupid with hunger and lust.

Alex sips his wine and listens happily as Nicky murmurs to him. Maybe he can come up with some reason to have Old Zhenya cook for Nicky. The thought of it nearly makes him purr, and when he reaches out for Nicky’s neck, Nicky leans in easily, letting his head drop back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my info about male affection during photography in the olden days from **[here](https://www.artofmanliness.com/articles/bosom-buddies-a-photo-history-of-male-affection/)**. 
> 
> If you wanted to know more about "still waters run deep," here is **[more information](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Still_waters_run_deep)**. I do have someone specific in mind as Geno's ancestor, and he would have grown up with knowledge of Latin because of the time period and the area (as would Geno).
> 
> I didn't fabricate [**Nicky's fear of dogs**](https://russianmachineneverbreaks.com/2018/09/27/today-is-stressful-heres-a-bunch-of-capitals-players-holding-puppies/). 
> 
> The sweater Mike references is the **[greenish-gray one](http://time.com/4106514/kurt-cobain-sweater-auction/)** from Kurt Cobain's MTV Unplugged appearance. 
> 
> When Alex gets abruptly woken up by Nicky in the Alex/Nicky chapter of the original Blood Pressure, he immediately thinks "fire" or "flood." This time, when he wakes up as a result of Nicky's fear, he thinks "fire" or "flood" again. This is because one of the songs I posted at the end of the Alex/Nicky chapter of original BP was [**Fire and the Flood by Vance Joy**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCOAuJsVIh4) **. ))))))))**


	4. underhand hug

“No,” Sidney says, and he sounds exhausted. Immediately, Zhenya leans back, putting distance between his mouth and Sidney’s neck.

Zhenya would normally feel hurt by the refusal, but at this point, he just accepts it. Sidney’s lying back on the bed, buried under blankets, pale and fatigued. He’s worn out from all the sex and all the biting. Zhenya understands and gets him a bottle of water and some tasteless health bars, sitting at his side and keeping a close watch on him.

“I’m not dying, I’m just tired,” Sidney says, speaking with his mouth full. “You gotta fix this Nicky thing. I don’t have any blood left.”

“Ugh,” Zhenya says, and he really means it.

“You could kick him out,” Sidney suggests, taking a swig of water. “Ask everyone to leave. The proposal was why they were here, right? So what’s keeping them?”

At some point, everything sort of spiraled out of control—Zhenya being forced to admit his attraction to Nicky, Zhenya bringing the dog in to frighten Nicky, Alex arguing with Zhenya over, what, Nicky’s hairstyles? It was all so stupid and lasting much too long. And now it’s affecting Sidney, and Zhenya can’t let that happen.

“I can fix,” Zhenya says, running a hand across Sidney’s hip through the covers. “Go to sleep.”

Sidney snorts a little and mumbles dryly, “As if I have a choice,” with his eyes already closed. Zhenya tucks the blankets around him tighter and heads downstairs to find Alex.

Unfortunately, even after checking some of Alex’s regular haunts, he can only find Nicky. Nicky’s sitting at the dining room table flushed, sweating (needs to be bitten!), and eating (cold!) leftovers right out of a plastic container (unacceptable!). “Where’s Alex,” Zhenya asks, staring with determination at the wall, resisting the urge to scent Nicky, resisting the urge to properly heat and plate the food.

“He’s upstairs on the computer. I think he’s looking at places where we can have the wedding party.” Nicky glances up at Zhenya. “Did you need him for something?”

“You’re letting him pick where is wedding?” Zhenya asks, appalled at how naïve Nicky must be; no doubt Sasha’s going to pick the tackiest location imaginable. Nicky should know better.

“It’s up to him. I don’t care where it is.” Nicky goes back to eating his unacceptable meal and flipping through the newspaper.

The food is so cold it makes a weird scraping noise when Nicky digs his fork into it and Zhenya realizes that it’s still frozen in the middle. He snaps in Russian, “For fuck’s sake,” before catching his temper and leaving the room, trying to win back at least a _little_ of his pride.

Zhenya tries his best not to acknowledge Nicky’s obvious mockery of him. With anyone else, Zhenya would think of the displays as flirtation, or signals of interest, but because the person doing it is Nicky, Zhenya knows this is nothing of the sort. Nicky’s trying to humiliate Zhenya, and unfortunately, it’s working.

However, Nicky and Zhenya aren’t the only people in the house having a conflict. The tension in the house would still be palpable even if Nicky weren’t suddenly breaking his “no visible skin other than head and hands” rule that Zhenya hadn’t seen him deviate from since the 1920s when they met. Lately, Nicky’s back stiffened whenever Sasha brought up _marriage_ , brought up a _wedding_. Tom’s gaze flitted constantly between them, and Mike was pleasantly oblivious, playing with Blondie for hours a day.

Later, when Sidney’s recovered enough to come down to the kitchen, Zhenya leans in and murmurs against his ear, “Thank you for being normal guy.” Nicky’s out on the back porch drinking moodily, and Sasha’s still upstairs, presumably looking at wedding stuff.

Sidney blinks at Zhenya in surprise. “Do you mean ‘boring’? People call me boring.”

Sometimes Sidney is boring, but Zhenya likes that. A by-product of too many centuries at Sasha’s side, probably. Sasha’s chaotic energy got old after the first couple hundred years. “Cute boring,” Zhenya settles on, and Sidney smiles even as he rolls his eyes.

“You should say something about that,” Sidney says, looking out through the kitchen window at Nicky’s back. It’s dark, but Nicky is visible from the light of the moon, stars, and the little garden lights down on the back yard. “I know he’s trying to tease you, but he’s going to get cold.”

Zhenya knows Sidney’s right, but he sighs loudly anyway to keep up appearances. “Fine,” he agrees, trying to make his tone as put-upon as humanly possible, and it pays off when Sidney snickers at him. “Fine,” Zhenya repeats, smacking Sidney’s butt a little.

He heads out the back door and walks across the deck, the boards creaking under his weight. Nicky is wearing a tee shirt that’s too large on him—it bares his collarbones slightly, and his forearms, and Zhenya both hates it and also wants Nicky to wear it forever—and paisley-patterned sweatpants. His hair falls loosely around his face, and even in the dim light Zhenya can tell that his cheeks are pink.

 _Christ_ , Zhenya thinks _. His cheeks are pink_.

“You’re staring,” Nicky murmurs, not looking at Zhenya.

“You want me to stare,” Zhenya retorts, because any denials would be fruitless.

Nicky takes another sip of wine and puts the glass down, resting his elbows on the railing and leaning forward to look out at the darkness. “You wanted the dog to scare me,” Nicky accuses, but his voice is still quiet.

 _And it did_ , Zhenya could respond. All of a sudden, though, he’s just—he’s tired. “Yeah.” He rubs his face with one hand and then leans his elbows on the rail beside Nicky. “You—because you know, now, I… ugh.” He wishes Nicky spoke Russian, but simultaneously doesn’t want to admit any of this in any language. “You make me—you know I want you, you tease, it’s—” _Mean_ , is the childish word that fits the best but would be the most humiliating. “It’s bad.”

Nicky looks at Zhenya finally, and to Zhenya’s satisfaction, he looks cowed. Embarrassed, maybe. “I… you’re right.” He looks back out at the night and then lifts his hand to take another deep swallow of red wine. “I’ll stop.”

Zhenya immediately feels like he’s lost his footing. He knew what was happening, and now he doesn’t. It’s a normal pattern with Nicky, but this time, it’s not just them talking about food or Sasha or something—this actually matters, as much as it pains Zhenya to admit it. “You what?” Zhenya presses, and when Nicky doesn’t respond, he adds, “Tell me, you what?”

“I know you don’t like me,” Nicky states, his tone matter-of-fact and free of self-pity. “You never have.” He turns to face Zhenya, and nothing in his face is accusing or angry or upset. “It felt nice to at least think you wanted me. Even just for lovemaking.”

Zhenya’s brain grinds to a halt at hearing Nicky talk like this. Nicky would never talk like this in front of Sasha, and maybe never even talk like this sober. “How long you think this?” Zhenya asks, dumbfounded.

Nicky’s tone is very frank. “When we first met, you thought I wanted Alex’s money. Then you thought I would get bored. When Tom came, and I sent Alex away, I thought you would—” Nicky falters a little and breaks eye contact. Finally, an emotion is showing.

It’s not an emotion Zhenya wants Nicky to feel, though. “No. I’m not mad, not hurt you. I’m—you did what I did.” Zhenya knows it’s not the same, not really, but it’s close enough.

Nicky seems to regain his conversational footing at that. “You’ve never liked me, and that’s fine. I like that you only care about Alex. But it’s nice to think you want me, if only to make love.”

Zhenya can’t take this. He reaches out and pours some more wine into Nicky’s glass and drinks it all, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He waits a few moments for the alcohol to sink in, waits for that warmth and tranquility to wash over him a little. “I think you kind of boring and weird,” he finally admits. “Just me and you together-- always so awkward.”

Nicky smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “See? I was right.”

 _This is horrible_ , Zhenya thinks dismally. It sinks in that Nicky’s not going to get this unless Zhenya spells it out, and he’d rather swallow a sword than actually open up his mouth and tell Nicky something awful like: _you are the only kindred I’ve ever cared about, you are the only person I would ever want to be with Sasha, I can only hope to be as good of a pair to Sidney as you are to Sasha._

Horrible. He can’t say that shit.

That look on Nicky’s face, though. It’s also pretty horrible, and the idea that Nicky is pleased that Zhenya would think of him as some kind of sexually appealing but personally repulsive stranger—that’s. That’s the most horrible thing.

“I respect you,” Zhenya says, realizing a little too late that his voice has deepened and the words are coming out slowly. He only talks like this when he’s giving eulogies, or proclaiming love, or telling the stories of the lives behind each person represented by his mourning rings. It’s the tone he uses when something matters enough to be vulnerable and push through the urge to put up walls and protect himself. He’s had centuries to build up his emotional barriers, centuries of seeing the consequences of people being emotionally laid bare, and now, all at once, he’s pushing the walls down. And pushing the walls down makes his voice sound like this.

Nicky’s looking at him, Zhenya realizes belatedly. Staring. _Nicky’s always so attuned to every little thing_ , Zhenya thinks despairingly. Of course Nicky would notice Zhenya’s intonation changing. “I respect you,” Zhenya repeats. “I like lots of people. I maybe not ‘like’ you. But I respect you.”

Nicky’s barely blinking, and Zhenya thinks Nicky’s finally getting it. “You don’t respect as many people as you like,” Nicky guesses.

“Yeah. ‘Like’ so many people. Respect? Four, now, four that not dead.” The mourning rings on his fingers suddenly seem very heavy, and Zhenya takes another drink of wine.

“Four,” Nicky murmurs, turning to look out at the forest.

“You, Sidney, Alex, Jaromir,” Zhenya confirms, and they both fall quiet. The only sound is the gust of the wind through the branches above. It’s too cold for crickets.

Zhenya would worry more about Nicky’s body temperature if he didn’t feel the characteristic pair-human waves of heat coming off Nicky’s skin even though they aren’t touching. Nicky never stops exuding paired-ness, and Zhenya hasn’t always been the best pair vampire. Nicky doesn’t falter even when Zhenya and Sasha have. “I respect you,” Zhenya says a third time, because the red wine makes it sound like a good idea.

“You’re important to me,” Nicky responds quietly, his voice tight like the words are costing him something. This is his answer, Zhenya realizes; Nicky’s vulnerable response to Zhenya’s vulnerable confession.

“Good,” Zhenya says, and it’s awkward and weird and every uncomfortable thing that Zhenya associates with Nicky, but it’s also genuinely good.

“I’ll stop trying to seduce you,” Nicky promises somberly, and Zhenya breathes out a sigh of relief. “I knew you wouldn’t actually try anything, because of Alex.”

It’s the red wine that makes Zhenya make a slightly hedging _ehh_ noise, like he’s not sure how to answer a question. He inhales sharply so he can backtrack, but Nicky’s facing him, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth turned up. “You and Alex—before he met me, did the two of you…?”

Zhenya, for once, can’t think of a single thing to say. The silence is mortifying and Nicky’s mouth curves into a delighted grin. “You did. You taught him to be a vampire and then taught him everything _else_ you knew. How _nasty_.”

“I hate you,” Zhenya snaps with feeling. “I want you to die.”

Nicky pours Zhenya some wine and holds out the glass, still smirking. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing now.”

Zhenya reluctantly drinks the wine, looking out at the darkness and willing his cheeks to stop being pink. He’s freezing, and it’s frustrating that he still manages to blush.

“I would have made it feel so good for you, though,” Nicky murmurs, and Zhenya chokes on his wine. Nicky laughs at him as he bends over and coughs.

 

 

 

“What about just go to city hall to get married?” Alex asks as Nicky drinks his evening coffee.

Nicky tries not to let Alex feel the tension that immediately buries itself under his stomach, but it’s an impossible task from the get-go. The idea of standing in front of people and declaring his feelings for Alex is horrifying, and even worse is the realization that he’s come to in the last couple days, ever since the proposal became real: Nicky has no idea what to say.

For ninety years, Nicky has been at Alex’s side, feeding him, sleeping beside him, making love to him, following him, leading him. They’ve been across the world together, they’ve lived through separation. They’ve shared apartments, hotel rooms, a house, and even a jail cell. Nicky can’t remember what it’s like to live without feeling Alex’s emotions layered under his own. There is nothing, _nothing_ that Nicky can say that will measure up to their lifetime together.

“Nicky, it’s okay,” Alex is saying, his voice gentle. He’s moved closer while Nicky was sitting in silence. “Why you’re worrying? No big ceremony, I promise, I know you hate big crowds and having to talk.”

Nicky thinks about the wedding ring and the mourning rings and, strangely enough, the sun-proof coat that Alex bought when he foolishly thought Nicky would want to go outside during the daylight. “I don’t want to… get married,” he admits, paying close attention to Alex’s face, to what Alex is projecting underneath Nicky’s own emotions.

“You said you want to get married so Tom and Mike can see, can feel safe,” Alex says, but not like he’s arguing. He just sounds curious, not angry or rejected, and Nicky’s relief is bone-deep.

Nicky glances over at the photo album that’s sitting on the kitchen table. Nobody’s bothered putting it away, even though Tom and Mike have already stared curiously at every photo and made fun of every outfit. Or, really, Tom makes fun of the fashion; Mike asks questions like _why didn’t you buy a house sooner_ or _when did the USSR break up_ or _did you do drugs in the sixties like everyone else_.

“The coat you bought me,” Nicky murmurs, “the one that’s sun-proof. I think that marriage is like that.”

Alex pours himself a cup of coffee and sits down across from Nicky. All that Nicky can feel off of him is curiosity, though, so he continues, “It would have helped me fit in with people I don’t care about. Getting married—that would be the same thing. Proving something to people I don’t care about.”

“You care about Mike and Tom,” Alex says, taking a sip of coffee.

Nicky nods, and reaches out to pull the photo album closer. “That’s why I want them to see what’s actually important to us. This is what’s important.” He opens it to a random page: a Polaroid of the two of them in some kind of hotel room with weird decor of driftwood and antlers. “They’re part of our world now, the vampire world, and I want them to know that this is what matters.”

In the photo, Alex is just barely visible, no doubt stretching his arm out to take the picture while Nicky is clad in clashing prints of non-matching plaid, his hair blonder than usual. Nicky continues, voice soft, “That’s what love is, for us.” Photo-Nicky’s cheeks are pale, and Alex’s are rosy pink. In his hands, Nicky’s holding a partially peeled hard-boiled egg. “The years we’ve been together.”

All at once, he’s being enveloped in Alex’s arms. It’s a rare underhand hug, with Alex’s arms wrapping around Nicky’s ribs and not his neck and shoulders like usual. Alex only grips Nicky this way when he’s fighting back tears, so Nicky simply hugs him back and murmurs, “Even though we’re not getting married, I’m keeping the ring.”

Sure enough, Alex’s voice is kind of choked as he responds, “Of course. It’s a beautiful ring.” The waves of pleasure and mindless love coming off of him are so strong that Nicky has to swallow thickly.

The ring is too tacky to be beautiful, too ostentatious to be elegant, but it’s from Alex and it’s for Nicky. “It’s perfect, my pair,” Nicky says, and Alex immediately gives a deep sigh of contented approval, his chest rumbling against Nicky’s. Nicky smiles against Alex’s soft, silvery hair.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr! ](http://cornfieldsposts.tumblr.com/)  
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